Cold Case
by sparkle7311
Summary: This is an extended piece to my previous story "Gone but not forgotten". This is a Death fic and is told from Rosie Dobey's point of view. Thanks to Kimberlykdf for beta reading this story.


**COLD CASE**

**This is an extended piece to my previous story "Gone but not forgotten". This is a Death****fic****and is told from Rosie Dobey's point of view. ****Thanks to****Kimberlykdf****for beta reading this story.**

My name is Rosie Elizabeth Dobey and I'm a cop. A homicide detective to be precise, assigned to the Bay City Police Department. This is the same squad that my father, Harold Dobey, was the Captain of for almost 15 years.

My reasons for being a cop are a lot more complicated then just following in my father's footsteps. I became a cop to honor two very special men, Detective Sergeant First Class David Michael Starsky and Detective Sergeant First Class Kenneth Richard Hutchinson, but to me they were, and always will be, Uncle Dave and Uncle Ken.

No, we weren't related by blood, but that didn't make them any less my family than my parents or my brother. It seems like even my earliest memories included the two of them. They were my dad's best team of detectives; at least that's what he always said. He also used to say that they gave him more gray hairs than Cal or I ever did.

They may have been unorthodox and didn't always play by the rules, but they got the job done. Their arrest record speaks for itself. They are legends in their own right in departmental lore; tough, street wise, seasoned cops.

They were as different as night and day. Uncle Ken was blond with ice blue eyes and was college-educated. He came from a wealthy family back east. Sometimes, he could be aloof and arrogant, but never around me. He had a soft gentle side too that I was privileged to experience first hand..

Uncle Dave, on the other hand, had dark curly hair and vivid blue eyes that sparkled with life. He'd spent the first thirteen years of his life learning to survive on the streets of New York. He was cocky, self confident, and had a warped sense of humor. Sometimes, he could be a big kid at heart. I can still remember him sitting on the floor and playing with me whenever he came to visit. He was great with kids. He would have made a terrific father, but he never got that chance.

I have so many fond memories of them and the times they spent with me and my family. They were there almost every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, and every birthday when I was a little girl; a part of the family.

Uncle Dave and Uncle Ken were good at their job because they really cared; they believed that what they did made a difference. But, they were more than just partners; they were also the best of friends. They spent almost all of their time together, even when they were off-duty. It was that closeness, that trust in each other, that made them so good at what they did. Me and Thee that was their motto, a creed that they lived every day.

It seemed like one of them was always getting hurt. It goes with the badge. I can still remember how when one of them was hurt, the other one was always there taking care of them. You could almost feel the love they shared and I learned to respect them for that.

One memory that stands out the most is the day that Uncle Dave was shot in the police garage. He was gunned down by two men dressed up as cops. They shot him four times in the chest and stomach. Nobody thought Uncle Dave was going to live, not even Uncle Ken. The damage was just too massive, at least that's what the doctors said.

And even though Uncle Ken wanted to stay with Uncle Dave in case he did die, Uncle Ken knew that it was up to him to find out who had tried to kill his partner. And he did too. Uncle Ken didn't rest until he brought the person responsible to justice. When that was done, he never left Uncle Dave's side. And, in spite of the doctor's dire predictions, Uncle Dave did survive. They all called it a miracle, but I just called it love.

I was only ten years old when Uncle Dave got shot and I couldn't go to the hospital to see him. But, I used to sneak downstairs at night and listen to mom and dad talking about what had happened. I can remember being so scared. It was the first time that the violence that goes along with being a cop touched me that closely.

I like to think that my prayers helped Uncle Dave get better. He was in the hospital for a long time; forever it seemed like to me. When he finally went home, Uncle Ken moved in with Uncle Dave to take care of him. It took almost nine months before Uncle Dave could go back to work.

I remember the first time I saw Uncle Dave after he got out of the hospital. He looked so tired and I could see how much pain he was still in. You could tell that he had been sick. He'd lost so much weight and his face looked so thin, but he still gave me one of his special smiles and a big hug.

As I grew into a teenager and became more involved in my own social life and school activities, I didn't spend as much time with Uncle Dave and Uncle Ken anymore. But, if they could get away from work, I could always count on them coming to watch me in my school play or cheering at a football game.

I still remember my sixteenth birthday; I guess most kids do. That's a pretty special birthday, a milestone. But, that day is one of my worst memories. That's the day my Uncle Dave and my Uncle Ken died.

My parents had a big party planned and almost everybody was there, but I refused to let them start until Uncle Dave and Uncle Ken got there. So we waited and we waited, but they never came. Finally, Daddy said we had to get started. He tried to tell me that something must have come up at work, but I just had a bad feeling. I knew something was wrong.

It was almost six days before anyone found their bodies. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they had each been shot once in the back of the head, execution style. And that's exactly what it was; a cold-blooded execution of two men who were murdered because of who they were and what they believed in.

Every cop on the force tried to find out who was responsible for their murders, but they had been involved in so many high-profile cases over the years and made so many powerful enemies that it was impossible to pin the murders on any one person. There were several leads, but nothing that led to an arrest.

Their deaths were the first time that I had lost somebody really close to me. I was never going to see them again. A part of me, a big part, was gone forever. All I had left now were my memories. I cried that day, Cal cried, my mom and dad cried, and so did a lot of cops. They had touched so many lives over the years and they were going to be missed terribly by everyone who knew and loved them. I've never stopped missing them.

Daddy took an early retirement after they died. The satisfaction he had always gotten from being a cop had died with them. He never talked much about them after that, but sometimes, I'd see a certain look on his face and I knew that he was thinking about them.

Dad was so proud when Cal went to college and became a lawyer. He wasn't quite as happy with me when I followed his footsteps and joined the Police Academy after two years of community college. He had a much different future pictured for his little girl.

I worked hard to achieve my goal of being a detective and even harder to earn a spot on my Dad's old squad. I've been with the same partner for seven years now and we know each other inside and out. The perfect team. I borrowed our motto, Me and Thee, from two old friends. I don't think they would mind.

My dad died three years ago from lung cancer. On his deathbed, I told him that someday I would find out who had been responsible for killing Uncle Dave and Uncle Ken and I would bring them to justice. He smiled and told me that he knew I could do it and then he closed his eyes forever.

Two years ago, the department formed a special Cold Case Unit. With the new advances in technology over the years, the success rate in solving these old cases was surprisingly high. My partner and I were the first team of detectives to apply for the new squad.

And the first case I insisted on investigating were the murders of Uncle Dave and Uncle Ken. Using both advances in police science and some good old-fashioned police work, my partner and I re-investigated every lead in the old files. And after almost six months of hard work, we broke the case.

The man responsible for their murders turned out to James Gunther's son, Jason Cardwell. My brother, Cal, was District Attorney of LA County by that point and I worked closely with him to make sure that Cardwell got the death penalty.

Twenty years after of their murders, Cardwell was finally sentenced for his crime. Afterwards, Cal and I went to the cemetery and I put a bouquet of roses on Uncle Dave and Uncle Ken's graves. They rest side by side for all eternity, the way it should be. And, now, I know that they can finally rest in peace.


End file.
